The Marriage He Must Keep by Dani Collins Page A

I’m man enough to admit that’s where my head was at.”
    “And now you’re ready to be domestic?” she chided, letting her hand stay in his because she craved his touch. Even after all this time, all her anger and disappointment and reservations, she wanted to hold still for his touch.
    “Now, like many people who only realize the true value of something when they almost lose it, I am ready to commit wholeheartedly to our marriage,” he said in a tone that made it a vow.
    Hope pulsed in her arteries. Everything about him weakened her: the control and confidence his posture projected, the handsomeness of his godlike features with that glint of determination in his eyes.
    “But I can’t say the same,” she admitted, wavering slightly as he flinched and sent her a fierce look. “I went into this marriage so anxious for it to be perfect, so certain it would be better than my parents’, I never disagreed with any of your decisions. You made all of them. I can’t be that person you married. I won’t.”
    “I’m not asking you to,” he said, holding her hand a little tighter as a more avid light came into his eyes, like a hunter pouncing on its prey. “But does your first demand of me have to be that I allow you to leave me and take our son? That’s unreasonable. Try again.”
    She released a husk of a disbelieving laugh, sitting back and stealing her hand away from his. “I suppose asking you to quit being so arrogant is also unreasonable?”
    “And unrealistic,” he said without a hint of sheepishness or apology. “I don’t compromise, Octavia. That’s not who I am, but I’m trying to do it for you,” he added sincerely. “For my wife. To save our marriage. Do you see that?”
    She swallowed, weirdly affected by that statement. A sip of wine was in order, to help her digest everything he’d said. Warmth ran down her limbs.
    “Believe it or not, I don’t want a spineless wife,” he said. “Yes-men annoy me. That’s why I’m furious to learn that all this time, when I thought you were content, you’ve been miserable and keeping it from me.”
    She bit the insides of her lips before she said simply, “It never mattered to anyone how I felt. My parents didn’t care and boarding school—” She shrugged that off. No welcome for whiners there.
    Their feuilletés arrived, distracting them for a moment as they broke the delicate puff pastries. They were tiny, only two bites, and shaped like fish. Creamy salmon and asparagus filling oozed out.
    “Tell me more about your parents. You said a few days ago that your father didn’t have your best interests at heart, but he was very shrewd in our meetings. He wanted a good marriage for you.”
    She dipped her chin, reproving him for thinking her father’s demands had had anything to do with her. “If you are a caretaker of your family fortune, he is a hoarder, one who is frustrated that he can’t take his money with him. He wanted a successor and got a vessel. I told you about my mother’s miscarriages. I didn’t fully appreciate how horrible that must have been for her until now, when I have my own baby, but I’ve always felt...” She shrugged. “Obligated to do what they wanted, otherwise why did she go through all that to have me? But given her delicate pregnancies and bouts of depression when she lost them... I assume she went through spells of refusing to sleep with my father and so he cheated. It didn’t make for a very happy home to grow up in.”
    Her fork went under the last minuscule bite of the delicious starter. As she swallowed, she looked up to see him watching her. Was that compassion in his gaze? Concern?
    “Please don’t pity me. It is what it is.”
    He drew a breath and stood, coming to her side where he held out a hand.
    “What—?” She looked up, up, up to muscled shoulders straining the pin-striped fabric of his shirt. His stance was one of invitation, not intimidation, but her heart still skipped in alarm. She caught